


Nature and Nurture

by MamaTurtleDuck



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Abuse, Drama, F/M, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaTurtleDuck/pseuds/MamaTurtleDuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bulma makes a wish to bring a young, teen aged Vegeta from another timeline into the current timeline, to prove that all the evil committed in his youth was the influence of Frieza to prevent Vegeta from going to Hell. Of course, everything goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

> **Notes:** This is my first published work of fanfiction. I've been wanting to write fanfiction since I was 10 years old, and I have made attempts, but until now I've always been too self-concious to put anything up. After much thought, I've decided that this is something I have to do. I went on my hard drive and found something I'd written a long time ago and stuck it on fanfiction.net. I had notes and outlines written, and I've been revising them. This prologue was written probably three years ago. The first two chapters are unbetaed, although I did my best to correct grammatical errors. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 

Bulma would not have another argument about this. Vegeta wanted to do nothing, but she was done with the sleepless nights and the anxious days. Since Vegeta had died against Buu, it was a line of thought that swirled in a vortex of dark emotion and heart-pounding frustration. Vegeta hadn't been in heaven with her. He'd been in Hell. The thought made her feel crazy.

Why the state of his eternal afterlife had never before occurred to her, she didn't know. Perhaps it was an unconscious denial of how cruel life truly was. Death wasn't something she usually dwelled on, nor truly worried about, thanks to the Dragon Balls. She knew that it was eventually unavoidable, death comes whether you give it thought or not.

This had led her to Kami's (or Dende's now, she supposed) Lookout. Her hover plane was parked behind her nearly on top of Mr. Popo's flower garden, precariously close to the edge. It took mere seconds for Dende to emerge from the darkness underneath the high arching doorways of the temple. He wore a pleasant smile and seemed not at all surprised to find her waiting.

"Good morning Ms. Briefs," he said, giving her a small incline of his head. "To what do I own the pleasure of your company?"

Bulma had thought about the best way to bring this subject up to the demi-god many times. Almost obsessively, as of late. She'd thought to be sensible and calm, and ask him his opinion. Instead, she blurted "He doesn't deserve Hell! It's not fair!" and dissolved into tears.

Dende looked startled at her outburst. He asked Popo, who was tending the garden near her plane, to retrieve drinks and shuffled her over to a bench in the flowers.

When she'd calmed down and chugged the most unbelievably bland lemonade she's ever had, , Dende began to awkwardly twiddle his thumbs on the bench next to her. It made her nervous. If he didn't agree with her, then who would? Dende was the kindest person she had ever met.

"Dende," she croaked and then cleared her throat. "He was resurrected with the rest of us. Does that mean he's not going to Hell anymore? He's already been twice. Is that not enough?"

"I don't know, Ms. Briefs. That's not my decision to make. That's something that only King Yamma can tell you."

"Then let me speak to him!"

"That isn't something I can do either," he shook his head, but smiled all the same. "But you should go to Goku. He's used Instant Transmission to get to the afterlife before, I'm sure he can do it again."

An hour later, Bulma landed on the hill outside of Goku's mountain home. Goku was rolling in the grass nearby, wrestling with Goten when her hover plane had appeared and now Goten was happily perched on his father's shoulders as the waited for her to exit the plane.

"Goku," she yelled, waving and running to him. "Take me to see King Yamma!"

"Sure!" He answered without pause as he set Goten onto the bright green grass. "What for, Bulma?"

"I need to speak to him about Vegeta's soul."

"Why, is there something wrong with it?"

"Yes! It's damned! Now let's move! I don't have all day, you know!" She snapped, wanting to get this damn process started.

 


	2. Observer Bias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma makes her wishes.

King Yemma was not amused. Son Goku had suddenly appeared before his desk and some psychotic harpy he'd brought with him had been screaming at him ever since. He could pick out words, like "bastard" and "you can't" and "do something", but what really caught his attention was "Vegeta".

"Quiet!" the Lord of the Underworld snapped and although he had not spoken loudly, his size helped his voice resonate throughout the room.

The woman froze and looked up at him with narrowed blue eyes. He'd never seen such a put out look and he'd been generating them in other people for millennia.

"Hey, buddy, I've got something to say and you'd better listen! This is important!" She screamed, finally understandable.

"More important than all of these souls waiting to be processed?" he asked, gesturing towards the never-ending parade of souls lined up behind her.

Bulma glanced over her shoulder and gave a shrug.

"They have eternity. I don't. And that's the problem," she said, calming down now that she was sure she had the giant oni's attention.

King Yemma sighed and placed his rubber stamp down on his desk. He knew from experience that anything dragged in by Son Goku wasn't going to go away just because he told it to. "Speak."

Bulma took a deep, steadying breath and channeled her business meeting "zen".

"I need to know what's going to become of my husband when he dies," she said evenly.

Yemma looked confused.

"Your husband?"

"Vegeta," she replied, stress seeping into her tone.

King Yemma's eyebrows shot up and he began rifling through his book of souls. He delicately picked through the pages, throwing glances at her over his desk. He finally stopped searching and read carefully over several pages before shaking his head and heaving a deep sigh.

"That would make you Bulma Briefs," she nodded her head as he continued. "Your husband has done a great deal of evil in his lifetime and very little to repent."

"What the Hell do you mean? He saved the freaking universe less than a month ago!"

"Yeah! Even the Otherworld would be gone if it weren't for him!" Goku interjected from over Bulma's shoulder.

"Yes, and he saved the world in the same day he allowed himself to be possessed and killed over 80 people," King Yemma said.

"But we wished them back!" Goku replied lamely.

"The things he did in his past aren't his fault. Every evil thing he's ever done was brought on by Frieza! If anyone should suffer for what Vegeta has done, it's that freak," Bulma argued, temper rising.

"If we pardoned every soul whose evil deeds had a reason then no one would go to Hell," King Yemma countered.

"He's really a good person! I know he would have been his whole life if it weren't for Frieza and I know he regrets what he's done!" Bulma's eyes were beginning to sting with tears. This wasn't getting anywhere!

"There is no evidence of that!"

"Is it not evidence enough that he's stayed on Earth all this time, instead of trying to rule the galaxy?"

"I can't remember a time when someone who's earned their way into Hell has earned their way back out," King Yemma said, running out of patience. "If this is all you have to say then you're wasting your time".

"No! No, I'm not! I demand a trial! You can't just condemn people's souls for all eternity without at least a trial!" Bulma yelled, becoming desperate.

"That's what the book is for! You're wasting your time! I can't give just one person out of millions who go through this way station every day a trial. And what evidence could be presented? Your husband's word?"

It was at this point that Bulma realized she was going to have to do something insanely drastic. Her mind raced for possibilities and solutions. "Fine, I'll prove it myself! I'll raise him from a child on my own! I'll wish for another version of him from another timeline and then you'll see that he was never really evil, not even at his worst."

"Woman, that man has been evil all the way through since before puberty," King Yemma said, exasperated. "But you do whatever you want. Since you and your husband are allies of Son Goku, I will give you an opportunity to present your "case" upon the next death of your husband".

Bulma grabbed Goku by the front of his shirt and attempted to shake him, although her anger was impotent against his strength and all she managed to do was stretch out the fabric.

"Take me to New Namek. We need the big guns for this!"

* * *

Several hours later, Bulma stood before the Namekian Dragon Balls. As the Balls began to glow and the Dragon rose, her mind whirled, repeating her conversation with King Yemma over and over.

_Before puberty, my ass._ She thought to herself, angry and - deep underneath the anger - afraid that she was wrong.

She watched as the light of the Dragon bounced off the ominous black clouds above and illuminated the area and the Porunga's enormous head dipped low to provide her its undivided attention.  _There's only one way to know for sure_ , she mused.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked to Murray, who looked expectantly back at her.

"Tell the Dragon my wish is to have a prepubescent version of my husband from another timeline be brought to me," Murray's hairless eyebrows shot up into his antennae, but he dutifully translated the wish into Namekian anyway.

The Dragon nodded it's head and announced that the wish had been granted, strangely enough so that she could understand him. The Dragon hovered and she suddenly realized that she still had two more wishes on these Balls. Before she had a chance to contemplate those wishes, she was suddenly on the ground with Goku standing in front of her, a moderate sized ki blast dissipating in his upraised hand.

"Hey, Vegeta! That's not very nice," Goku yelled. "We're not going to hurt you!"

"Where the  _fuck_ am I and who the hell are you?"

The voice was high pitched and childlike, but Bulma would recognize those inflections anywhere. That was her husband, but not. The implications of what she'd actually just done whispered on the outside of her thoughts, but she pushed them aside. No time to consider the ramifications now. She leaned her view around Goku's rather large, muscled thigh. Silhouetted against the bright glare of the Dragon Balls she could just barely make out the shape of her husband's hair, only much closer to the ground than usual.

"We're your friends and we're very, very far away from Frieza," Bulma said, loud enough that she was sure the younger Vegeta could hear her.

She screeched and shrunk away from Goku as he stopped several direct blasts, covering her face with her arms. From the hole in the curve of her elbow, she barely detected the saiyan taking off into the air. She raised her arm to call for him to wait, but Goku was already grabbing the boy right out of the sky and pulling him into a bear hug against his chest. Vegeta struggled, his blue aura becoming visible as he thrashed and kicked and bit at a largely unaffected Goku.

"You have to calm down," Goku said, assuming his serious voice. "We only want to help you!"

"Go fuck yourself, you psycho!" Vegeta growled, nailing Goku in the knee with his heel hard enough to possibly leave a bruise.

"This isn't working," Bulma said to herself, her hands threading themselves in her hair. "Tell the Dragon that I wish he had to do what I tell him," she gestured wildly in the direction of the struggling pair.

The moment the words left her mouth she was already rethinking them. Yes, that would make him have to listen to her, but would it make him any more likely to trust her? As she began to tell Murray to change the wish, the Dragon nodded and affirmed again that the wish was done. Too late for regrets, she thought, maybe she can unwish it with the last wish.

"Vegeta, stop and calm down!" She yelled.

Immediately, the struggle stopped and she breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps, if used sparingly, the second wish could stay. Goku dropped to the ground and let go of the much smaller saiyan, letting him fall to his feet. The child version of the warrior stood and glared in both their directions, but made no hostile moves.

The Dragon suddenly grumbled something, sounding irritable. Murray turned to her and told her the Dragon wanted her third wish. She briefly entertained the idea of wishing her version of Vegeta would also have to listen to whatever she told him, or at the very least that he couldn't kill her when she brought home what was most likely his worst nightmare.

She should probably unwish her last wish, but looking at the already seething expression the boy was sporting even after being ordered to calm down made her hesitate. Yes, he would probably hate her for a long time, but if she couldn't ever get him to listen to her it might actually take longer. This Vegeta already seemed wild and she tried to imagine being left in a room alone with him, trying to gain his trust while praying he didn't just blast her head off. Her Vegeta hadn't done that, but he'd also been through his death on Namek. While he'd never told her directly, she knew that had been the life changing event that had given him the patience to not just kill her and steal her spaceship.

Squaring her shoulders, she made her decision. She had until the next time Vegeta died to gather enough evidence of his better qualities. While she tried to be optimistic, the reality was that she had no way of telling when the next Universe-threatening, mega-powerful baddie would appear. It could as easily be next week as it could be in 30 years. She knew without any uncertainty, though, that one would. She couldn't afford to waste time trying to coax this new Vegeta into talking to her.

In all the years she'd known Vegeta, she'd never had the opportunity to have a real, two-way conversation with him. What she knew of him, she'd gathered over many years of careful listening and scientific conjecture. His past and his emotions were locked up and sometimes she wondered if he was even aware of their existence most days.

Taking one final, deep breath, she told Murray her final wish.


	3. Anchoring Hueristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma's wish has repercussions.

It was dawn, dark with storm clouds and a chill in the air, when Goku, Bulma, and their new charge appeared on the lush paths of Mrs. Brief's garden. Within seconds of their arrival, Vegeta and Trunks were converging on them from different parts of the Capsule Corp. complex. They must have noticed she'd been gone all night. Trunks would be worried, but Bulma assumed that Vegeta was training all night and only vaguely noticed her absence. He would have been able to feel both her ki and Goku's, if he'd felt inclined to find her.

"Stay still and be quiet until I have things under control," she said to the frustrated child still trying to shrug away from the grip Goku had on his shoulder. He stilled and, impossibly, his expression became even darker.

Once Vegeta was close enough for her to see clearly, she could see his already-furious eyes locked on the child behind her. He seemed to have blown right past shock and straight into murder mode.

"Woman, what the fuck did you do?" Vegeta growled.

"Vegeta, I know this must be really confusing, but I promise I have my reasons if you just listen."

"What did you do?" he asked again, scathingly.

"It's for you. I know we talked about this and you wanted me to just leave it alone, but I had to do something. I'm trying to help you." She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so nervous. Namek maybe.

Vegeta's face didn't change. Compared to what Bulma had been expecting, he almost seemed blank, but his aura was twitching visibly and his muscles bulged. He was terrifying. He wasn't reacting the way she expected. She'd expected a similar reaction to when she'd told him she was pregnant with Trunks. He had yelled, screamed, called her every name in the book, and then he'd left. When he eventually came back, he forgave her and decided to take responsibility for his role in their son's creation, but it had taken a very long time.

Bulma could see Trunks from the corner of her eye. He was staring hard at the younger version of his father, who was staring at his older counterpart with a look of wide-eyed horror. It occurred to Bulma at this moment that perhaps she hadn't explained all of this to the child as well as she should have. Before she had time to fully contemplate all the mistakes that were suddenly flooding her mind, Vegeta exploded.

"Are you completely fucking insane?" he snarled. His aura flared to life and his fists clenched, his posture rigid and unnatural.

Goku was in front of her again, standing with his arms outstretched placatingly towards the prince. "Vegeta, maybe you should calm down. Bulma is only trying to -"

"Stay the Hell out of this, you complete idiot!" Vegeta screamed, the veins standing out along his neck. At least he was yelling now. Yelling was normal. Yelling was good.

"What's going on here?" A tentative, new voice called.

Behind Vegeta, Bulma saw Gohan arrive, Goten not far behind him. Gohan took in the tension of the scene, his posture reflecting the atmosphere of the situation, while Goten happily ran to greet Trunks.

"Don't interfere, brat, this is between the woman and I. Take your moronic family and leave." Vegeta said, still glowing with energy, but more contained now that he had an audience.

"Who's that?" Goten asked.

Bulma glanced back at the boys, Goten pointing and Trunks shrugging. She tried to form a sane-sounding answer, but she was distracted by Krillin, Yamcha, and Piccolo arriving from separate directions. Piccolo landed beside Gohan, while Yamcha and Krillin hung back, casting both Bulma and Goku concerned looks over Vegeta's shoulder.

Vegeta's entire body twitched, his muscles jumping out of time with each other. His eyes were focused on Bulma, but she knew he was agitated by the presence of the others.  _Serves him right for practically going Super Saiyan on me._

"Auntie Bulma, who is that?" Goten repeated loudly.

All attention shifted to the boy who looked every bit the precursor to his adult counterpart. Finding himself the center of attention, the prince snarled viciously, almost visibly bristling. Jaws collectively dropped.

"Bulma, did you and Vegeta have another kid and not tell us about it again? Krillin asked.

"We wished for a little Vegeta, because we want to save Vegeta's soul! Goku announced.

Krillin appeared to actually try to process that. "Um, okay."

"My soul does not need saving, fool!" Vegeta yelled, power bursting around him and briefly flashing gold before coming back under control.

"Wait, wait, wait, you did what? That's Vegeta?" Gohan pointed incredulously, eyes bulging behind his new, thick framed glasses.

Bulma took this as her opportunity to wrest control of the situation. "Yes. He's from another timeline. Isn't he adorable?"

"Woman, I will fucking blast you!" Vegeta barked.

"Crazy bitch," hissed his small doppelganger.

Bulma glanced back at the grumbling child and ignored her husband. Any time she complimented his appearance he threatened to send her to another dimension.

"Bulma, you've done some seriously crazy things in all the years I've know you," Yamcha said. "But this? What are you thinking?"

"I'm doing what I have to do to save my husband and the father of my child, who deserves a second chance, soul included," she snapped.

"This is ridiculous," Piccolo growled. "We're collecting Earth's Dragon Balls and ending this immediately."

"No, you can't do that!" Bulma yelled, starting towards the Namek as if she meant to stop him herself.

"If he doesn't, woman, I will," said Vegeta.

"Vegeta, you have to calm down and listen to me! I'm trying to do what's best for our family."

Vegeta's ki abruptly dropped off entirely and his shoulders squared. Suspicion and confusion bloomed in his eyes as he searched her face skeptically. Bulma felt her heart leap at his sudden cooperation.

Piccolo rose into the air, Gohan following him. Gohan was clearly supporting Piccolo's decision although he did shoot Bulma and apologetic glance. Bulma knew that both Gohan and Krillin possessed Dragon Radars. She'd given one to each of them years ago, after the Androids, in case of emergency.

"No! Wait, please!" They weren't going to listen to her. She looked beseechingly to her oldest friend. "Goku, you understand, do something!"

Before she could blink, Piccolo was inside of a crater in what a few moments ago was her mother's flower bed. Goku held Gohan by the arm and seemed every bit as surprised as everyone else by what had just happened.

"Bulma, I think your other wish messed up," Goku said.

"I see that, Goku, thank you," she answered, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. Nothing was going right today!

"Other wish? What the heck did you wish to make Goku do that?" Krillin asked, gesturing at Piccolo, who was pulling himself up and wiping purple blood of off his face with a slightly more perturbed expression than usual.

"It wasn't supposed to affect him. I meant it for little Vegeta over there, but I guess I wasn't specific enough," she explained.

"What was it," Vegeta snarled.

"I wished that he would have to do whatever I tell him to," The dark look on her husband's face made her hurry on. "He was freaking out and fighting Goku! Besides, if I can't even be confident in the same room as him, how am I supposed to help him?"

"You aren't. This isn't up to you!"

"You're going to Hell, Vegeta!"

"So fucking what?" he yelled as his veins popped and his aura exploded back to life. He was furious now, but Bulma was too shocked by what he'd said to feel fear.

"What?" she asked, flabbergasted.

"I've killed billions without regret. If Hell isn't meant for people like me, who the fuck is it for?"

"You, you didn't –" she stuttered. "It wasn't something – you didn't chose to –"

"Yes, I did. I chose killing, murder, and genocide. It's in my blood. I don't regret it."

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

Suddenly, a bright flash and sonic boom from just behind her nearly bowled her over. Her breath caught in her lungs as she realized they were having this fight in front of her son, who hadn't known. He'd known that his father wasn't always a good guy, that he'd fought against them once, and that he just generally wasn't a friendly person. He had not known the rest and had no context for it.

"Shit," she cursed.

Vegeta looked almost as surprised by Trunks' take off as she felt, for about half a second, then his death glare resurfaced and settled back onto her.

"This is your fault." Then he was gone in a burst of blue and white.

Bulma looked to each of her friends, nearly in tears. She really thought, deep in her heart, that she would have everyone's support, once they understood her reasons. After all, Vegeta was her husband. He redeemed himself when he fought against Buu. He'd been their ally for more than ten years. It wasn't plausible that they were afraid of a little boy with a fraction of their strength. The only person he could hurt was her, and she'd taken care of that with her second wish.

"Guys," she begged. "Please."

Krillin and Yamcha still looked put-out, but one glance at her watery, blue eyes and Bulma knew they'd do whatever she told them without a wish compelling them to do so.

"Come on, Piccolo! If you were damned, wouldn't you hope we'd go to bat for you?" Bulma implored. "You were a bad guy once, too."

Piccolo eyed her warily and looked back to where Goku had just let go of Gohan. Goku shot him an apologetic smile and waved.

"Fine, but we're still gathering the Dragon Balls to fix Goku."

"Yes!" Bulma clapped her hands together, thrilled that she had won. "Thank you! I know this will all work out."

"Yeah, well, you're the one stuck with him," Piccolo grumbled.

* * *

Trunks landed in a clearing somewhere between West City and Mt. Pazou. Trunks liked to consider himself a tough kid, but now he couldn't stop the tears. What were his parents talking about? His dad was going to Hell? Had  _gone_ to Hell? And he deserved it? He'd killed people? Why hadn't anyone told him any of this before?

He sat down in the grass, still wet from the morning rain, and put his face in his hands. His parents never told him anything! His mom had just gone and wished for basically a new kid his same age and never asked him what he thought about it. It was really weird, seeing a kid-version of his dad. That "dad" had looked every bit as mean as his real dad, but still like a kid. For some reason, Trunks had always assumed that his father had materialized as an adult. Would he have to go to school with him? He couldn't imagine his father ever going to school and following the rules. He'd be kicked out for blasting the teacher within first period.

Trunks wiped the tears away with the back of his arm as Goten landed next to him. The other demi-Saiyan smiled obliviously at first, then frowned at the tear tracks on Trunks' face.

"Trunks, your mommy is worried about you," Goten said.

Trunks snorted. "Sure, she is."

Goten was quiet for a moment. "She's still taking care of that kid that's your dad. But she was real sad when she saw you leave. And your dad was mad at her 'cause of it."

"Really?"

"Yup, yelled at Auntie Bulma and everything. Then he left, but he went the other way," Goten explained.

"Hm." Trunks hadn't really expected his dad to come after him. "He was already mad at her anyway."

"So, is that kid that's your dad going to be your new brother?" Goten asked.

"What? No! Shut up. He can't be my brother is he's my dad!"

"Yeah, that'd be weird. I wonder what he's like. He didn't look nice."

"My dad's not nice. Apparently, he's a murderer. A mass murderer." Trunks said, anger and confusion rising again in his chest.

"But he saved the world when he helped my dad beat Buu. Doesn't that make him a good guy?" Goten rubbed the back of his head in a way reminiscent of his father's own absent-minded fidget.

"I don't know."

Trunks had thought he knew. His dad trained him to fight. They spent hours together every day. Trunks was old enough that he was starting to understand there were things about adults that he didn't know, and he'd known that his father was maybe a little more complicated than even normal adults. Still, nothing his dad did said "genocidal maniac". He even took Trunks to the park sometimes, and – after Bulma had thrown a fit – had started eating dinner with them every night.

"Gohan and your mom said that Mr. Piccolo used to be a bad guy, too. I think most of my dad's friends used to be bad guys. Maybe that's normal," Goten said, sitting and tugging at the moist grass.

"I don't think anything about our families or friends is normal, Goten." Trunks swallowed thickly and gazed dispassionately at the cloudy horizon.

* * *

Bulma watched as the last of her friends disappeared into a dot over the horizon, squinting against the sun that still stung her eyes despite being mostly obscured behind dark, heavy clouds. She convinced them to leave, insisting she was fine. She handled Vegeta by herself when he first came to Earth after the events on Namek; it was ridiculous to think she couldn't handle the tiny child behind her.

She turned hurriedly – the excitement of getting her first real chance to interact with him filling her with enough adrenaline to push away her exhaustion – only to be blinded by a bright blast of blue ki coming at her face. She screamed and curled in on herself, anticipating the pain of her flesh melting away in the seconds before she died. Instead, she heard the familiar sound of flesh and bone smashing together and the thud of a body impacting the dirt.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?"

Bulma straightened from where she had collapsed to the ground in fear to see her son standing before her as a full Super Saiyan, the look of rage on his face eerily similar to the boy he'd just cold-clocked. Her heart stopped as she waited for the young boy she'd just sworn to care for to move from where he was buried two feet into her lawn. She pushed herself to her feet and ran to him.

Dislodging his small body from the soil, she gasped when she saw the large, purpling bruise on his jaw that stood out sharply against the dirt on his face. He was littered with tiny cuts and bruises. For a brief moment, she was shocked that her baby could do this to another person – someone considered a strong warrior in his own right – with just a single hit. She felt his for vital signs and was relieved to feel a softly thrumming pulse.

"Trunks, get me a Senzu from your father's stash," she said urgently.

"What? No! Are you crazy? He tried to kill you!" Trunks snapped, disbelievingly. His eyes wavered from teal to blue as he dropped his Super Saiyan from, his arms crossed defiantly. He fixed both his mother and the boy in her lap with a petulant glare.

"And now he's hurt, Trunks! Go get them."

"No Mom, I don't want to heal him! I don't want him here! Send him back where he came from!"

"Trunks, sweetie, you don't understand. I'll explain everything to you later, but this  _is_  your father and we need to help him," she pleaded, gazing at her son from shocked, weary eyes.

"No, he's not! Dad's gone off somewhere because you pissed him off again doing something stupid!"

"Trunks Briefs! You will watch how you talk to me," Bulma warned, her body and face constricting with anger.

"No! This is stupid and I don't understand how getting killed by  _him_ ," he jabbed a finger at the small Vegeta, who Bulma was now cradling in her lap, "is going to help anyone, especially Dad."

"He's not going to kill me, Trunks. I'm doing this to keep your dad with with us in the afterlife. To keep him from going to Hell. This is important."

"But why?" Trunks implored desperately, confusion and anger causing his voice to crack.

"What do you mean 'why'? Because I love him and he doesn't deserve –"

"No! I mean, what did he do to have to go to Hell at all? Why is that one trying to kill you?"

Bulma paused, her mind grinding to a halt. "Trunks..." she began after a moment of thought. "That is a lot to get into right now. I need to get him to the infirmary and make sure he's okay. We can talk about it after I know he's alright. Will you please get the Senzu?"

Trunks leveled her with a hard glare, his eyes burning with anger. He reminded Bulma so much of his father when he was like this, it gave her goosebumps.

"No," he said firmly, then powered up and took off like a shot before Bulma could argue.

"Damn it!" She cursed.

She shifted the unconscious boy on her lap into her arms and stood. She would have preferred not to move him, but Saiyans are hardy and the risk of moving one with a head injury wasn't the same as moving a human. She was surprised by how light Vegeta was, even for a child. Trunks was younger than him, but clearly had more muscle mass and was possibly even taller. Bulma had been having trouble lifting Trunks since before his fifth birthday, but this child couldn't have weighed more than a large bag of Dino Chow.

She hurried him to the infirmary and laid him on the single hospital bed, the same bed she'd nursed his older counterpart back to health on at least a few times. She took a moment to get a better look at his injuries. His face looked like it had been smashed in by a meteor, but she'd seen injuries like this on her husband and even her son before, and she doubted there was anything truly damaged beyond what a Saiyan could handle. Her eyebrows knit together in concern as she smoothed his bangs away from his eyes. She didn't understand why he was still unconscious, it seemed an abnormally long time from her experience. Maybe he just wasn't as tough as the others, but she found that hard to believe.

She decided that he would survive without her for a few minutes and left him alone on the bed to search for a Senzu Bean. Whatever it was that was keeping the small prince knocked out instead of shooting ki beams at her wouldn't matter once she fed him a bean. It was possible that he could have been on a mission and already hurt or tired before she wished him into her timeline. He'd been quite a bit dirtier and wild-looking than she'd expected of him, not at all collected and poised like her Vegeta had been when he'd first arrived on Earth.

She found a Senzu in the Gravity Simulator and breathed a sigh of relief, glad she wouldn't have to run across the compound to find one in their room. She made Vegeta always keep at least one, just in case something like the training incident he'd had while preparing for the Androids happened again. Of course, it had, because Vegeta never knew when to quit. It had now become a habit to accumulate a few beans before one was needed.

When she arrived back at the infirmary, Vegeta was still unconscious. She wondered if it was possible to go from knocked-out straight to sleeping, because his breathing was deep and his body seemed relaxed. He might not even need the Senzu, perhaps he was just tired and needed to rest. Besides, she was exhausted herself and hadn't slept for nearly an entire day. It couldn't hurt to leave him like that, just so she could get a little shut eye.

She caught her own train of thought and felt disgusted with herself. Here was a little boy, suffering right in front of her, and she had the means to end it entirely in her hand. Of course she was going to give it to him. It didn't matter that she was afraid he'd try to incinerate her again the moment he woke up. She just had to be quicker on the draw and tell him not to. She would have to stay on top of him, until she eliminated any possible way he could cause trouble.

She held the bean over his mouth, pausing as a wave of numbing fatigue washed over her. She might be better at responding to him if she could get a little sleep first. Just because she didn't give him the Senzu didn't mean she couldn't help him. He looked tired and the Senzu would likely wake him up. He could possibly be less trouble after a good sleep.

Bulma backed away and set the bean on the work desk she kept here for her overnight vigils. She went to the closet near the bathroom and pulled out a metal case containing vials and a syringe nestled in foam. She selected two vials, a sedative and a pain reliever, both tried and tested on Saiyans. She would just get a little sleep, and when they both woke next, things would get off on a better foot, she was sure.

* * *

Vegeta felt Trunks coming long before he could see him. He considered leaving, but that felt too much like running away. He didn't doubt that Trunks had a lot on his mind and Vegeta had no desire to deal with any of it. He could have happily died without Trunks ever knowing a minute of his past. It wasn't that he was ashamed, he was just sure the boy would make a huge deal out of it, the same as his mother always did.

Trunks dropped heavily to his feet behind him and was quiet until Vegeta turned to face him. His son's face was red with emotion and Vegeta could see and smell that he'd been crying. The sudden pang of regret that sliced through his chest was unexpected and he viciously smashed it down, keeping his face impassive.

"You – or, that kid," Trunks sniffed, desperately holding back more tears. "He tried to kill Mom. I stopped him, but she still doesn't want to send him back."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow but remained silent, not quite knowing what to say. He wasn't exactly surprised at the child's behavior.

"She said you're going to Hell and for some reason thinks having that  _other_  you here will change that."

"It won't. Your mother is being ridiculous again."

"So, it's true then?" Trunks' attempt at a brave face was rapidly crumbling, fat tears beginning to fall as his body trembled. "You murdered people? You're a bad person?"

Vegeta wanted to lie. He really did. He wasn't blind to the fact that Trunks regarded him as a hero, and while he had never encouraged that, he'd never had the heart to actively discourage it either. As loathe as he was to admit it, it had been nice to be around an innocent child who knew nothing of his past sins. Even after the tournament, when Vegeta had attacked civilians and done so much wrong, Trunks had never looked at him with fear or hatred.

The wary look the others gave him, the one that said he was a ticking time bomb and they were just waiting for him to go off, was already beginning to form in his son's eyes. No matter what he did or said now, the complete trust and hero-worship Trunks had always afforded him would fade. Now, the boy would continue to wonder, even if he lied and told Trunks is mother was just a hysterical nut job.

"It's true." Vegeta didn't look away in shame, nor did he fear his only child's reaction to being told, with no uncertainty, that his father was a murderer. He watched stoically as Trunks' entire body shook and his face dissolved into snot and tears.

"But why?"

Vegeta shrugged one shoulder and turned away. After a few minutes of listening to Trunks sob, he was about ready to just leave him there. He knew Trunks wouldn't approve of his past, being raised as he was by his weak-hearted mother on a backwards planet full of stupid, baseless morals, but he still didn't understand the way his child was reacting. Vegeta had guessed that Trunks might want nothing more to do with him, or become cold towards him, but he had never imagined he'd be so upset by it.

"I don't understand," Trunks choked. "Why did you want to hurt people?"

"It's a Saiyan's nature to be violent," Vegeta replied automatically.

Trunks' eyes widened and for a moment he looked like he was going to be sick. "So, I'm going to be a murderer, too?"

"No," Vegeta barked, turning to look at his son again. Trunks looked so small and young, still in his night clothes and standing barefoot in the mud. The trees behind him swayed in the wind and it crossed Vegeta's mind that the rain was returning soon. Trunks looked cold already, but it was hard to tell if he was shivering from the temperature or emotion. "You're half human. You are too weak to do what I have done."

Trunks didn't look particularly comforted. Vegeta huffed. He wasn't any good at this. If the damn woman hadn't lost her mind, none of this would be happening and he would be sparring with Trunks in the Gravity Simulator by now, after having consumed a large breakfast. He remembered offhandedly that Trunks might have school later in the day, but he wasn't keeping track of when he was and wasn't supposed to be going.

"There's no use talking about this. I've already told your mother. I'm going to train."

Vegeta took off slowly, giving Trunks plenty of time to catch up with him. When he didn't, Vegeta increased his speed, vowing that this drama Bulma had brought upon them was going to end the moment he returned home.

 


	4. Cognitive Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while! This chapter has been posted on FF.net this whole time. Sorry AO3! 
> 
> I'm also working on this again. I really hope I've improved my writing somewhat since I started this. Hell, I even took a couple college classes. The new chapter should be up within a week or so. It's mostly finished, but it needs some polishing and I want to get ahead by a few chapters.

Vegeta and Trunks arrived home to a silent Capsule Corp. Vegeta was impressed that not one of the buildings were in flames, having expected more from his younger counterpart. The wish Bulma had made must have been very strong indeed, otherwise she used her wish with exceptional creativity.

 

Trunks disappeared, mumbling something about finding his mother before going to Goten's. Vegeta didn't pay him much mind, instead focusing on what he planned to do next. He could sense Bulma in their bedroom, still and calm, probably sleeping. In another building across the property, he could sense himself, an odd feeling which raised the hair on his neck, in the private infirmary. It felt as though the boy was sleeping, something Vegeta found strange. He remembered rarely sleeping at that age, always training in between his usual back-to-back missions.

 

He arrived at the infirmary to find it dark, lights out with the shade pulled down, and his small doppelganger in a deep slumber. Vegeta stalked closer, expecting the child to leap from the bed and try to blow his head off. When that didn't happen, Vegeta paused and frowned, confusion spreading through him like a virus. He shouldn't care what was going on with this impostor Just having him here was a disturbance, and unless it was a challenging opponent or dinner, Vegeta did not like disturbances.

 

He cast a dark glare at the blanket-covered form and settled into the desk chair that was already pulled away from the desk. He had come here with the intention to just incinerate the problem and be done with it. Now that he was here, killing himself seemed like a particularly strange thing to do. Not impossible, but maybe something that required a bit more contemplation. People were always telling him he didn't think before acting.

 

As he laid his arm across the desk, and his elbow came into contact with a small object – a Senzu bean – set innocuously next to an empty metal case. He knew that case, Bulma came wielding that thing at him whenever she thought he'd overdone it training. He nearly always refused the contents inside. The sedative made him completely unaware of his surroundings for hours and that was never acceptable. His gaze went to the boy on the bed and he snorted in bemusement. The woman was already at the end of her rope and his younger self had only been here a short few hours! Of course, she could barely handle him. When Vegeta had arrived on Earth after dying on Namek, and he had been much more subdued by then than he was at this age, though he'd never tell her that. She would be ready to send this tiny, disruptive version back where he came from by then end of tomorrow, no matter how stubborn she thought herself.

 

With a smirk, he pinched the Senzu bean between his fingers and lifted it, eying it thoughtfully. Just because he was sure his youthful counterpart could send her over the edge in his own time, there was no reason Vegeta couldn't get things started now.

 

Krillin fiddled with the Dragon Radar for one last time before sighing exhaustively and dumping the useless device to the grass with its twins. Yamcha, Piccolo, and Gohan all looked at him with various degrees of nervousness and impatience from the small semi-circle they'd formed around him. He shook his head bleakly.

 

 

"None of them are working?" Yamcha asked. "That's weird.”

 

 

"No kidding. Do you think they can really all be broken?" Gohan asked.

 

 

"How would they all break at the same time? That's nuts!" said Krillin.

 

 

Piccolo frowned down at the pile of radars, a dark look slowly coming over his already sharp features. "It must have been Bulma. She must have done something to the radars because she doesn't want us to make the wish.”

 

 

"I don't know. Bulma can be crafty, but even she would need time to do something like that," Yamcha reasoned.

 

 

"Maybe Dende can tell us something?" suggested Gohan. "Why don't we go to the Lookout and see if he knows. Yamcha and Krillin can go check on Bulma and see if she has anything to say about this.”

 

 

They parted ways from where they'd met in front of the Son home. Krillin and Yamcha nearly dropped from the sky as they were plowed through by an overpowered, angry lavender blur as Trunks arrived and landed violently on the lawn they'd just vacated. The flustered Z Warriors cast him worried glances, but went on their way.

 

Gohan and Piccolo made their way to the Lookout at a faster pace than Krillin and Yamcha had left towards the CC, silent and serious. Piccolo was clearly in a bad mood, and Gohan had learned long ago to just let him be. They flew for several minutes before slowing, sharing confused glances at each other.

 

"Shouldn't the Lookout be right here?" Gohan asked.

 

 

"It should. Do you feel Dende's ki anywhere?" replied Piccolo.

 

 

Gohan sent his senses out as far as he could and was shocked to feel nothing of his friend. He extended himself to look for Korin, Popo, and Yajirobe and came up empty.

 

 

"I can't feel them anywhere." he said quietly.

 

 

Piccolo descended rapidly, dropping from the sky like a green and purple missile before slowing a few meters above the ground where he hovered. As Gohan caught up, he discovered what had halted his mentor. On the rocky ground, thousands of feet below where the Lookout should have been, lay what remained of it in pieces. What was left belied no hint of the vast interior that the Lookout had secretly held; it was little more than large chunks of granite and marble.

 

 

"What – how could – I don't understand. How could this happen? Without anyone sensing something?" Gohan stammered.

 

 

"Go get your father," Piccolo grunted as he began to pick through the rubble.

 

 

He's searching for the bodies, Gohan thought despairingly, turning to follow Piccolo's command with tears in his eyes.

 

Yamcha and Krillin found Capsule Corp erupted into chaos. The medical research building on the far side of the compound was only half-standing and other buildings were beginning to go down as well. Capsule Corp. employees fled from their buildings, yelling to each other and the newly arrived emergency crews over the shrill shrieks of alarms. The two caught up with Bulma as she was running across the grounds against the panicked crowds in her bare feet and a thin, pink robe, her short hair sticking out at oddly unattractive angles.

 

 

"What happened?" Yamcha called to her as he scooped her up off the ground bridal style.

 

 

"I don't know! I had the younger Vegeta sedated in the infirmary so I could get some sleep. He shouldn't be awake yet!" she replied over the rush of air around them. Yamcha cocked an eyebrow at this information, but didn't comment.

 

 

They landed behind Krillin, who was already wrestling a spike-haired wild animal into a headlock, clearly not having too much issue, despite the rabid, explosive movements of his opponent. While Vegeta was quite strong for a kid, Krillin was still the strongest full-blooded human on the planet and that wasn't anything to sneeze at.

 

 

"Chill out! We're only trying to help you!" Krillin snapped as he pushed the youth to his knees in a full nelson.

 

 

"Let go of me you freakish, midget worm!”

 

 

"He sure sounds like Vegeta," Yamcha muttered.

 

 

"Vegeta, stop it! Stop fighting!" Bulma yelled at him.

 

 

The boy immediately went limp in Krillin's arms and glared death up at the two standing in front of him from underneath his fringed bangs. Krillin slowly loosened his hold and backed away while Vegeta gracefully rose to his feet, peevishly dusting off his dirty battle suit.

 

 

"The fuck do you want?" Vegeta asked, emitting a rough grunt that sounded strange from a boy as small as he.

 

 

"Ah, well, I want you to stop being so difficult and let me and my friends help you," Bulma explained.

 

 

"Help me with what? As far as I can tell, I've been abducted by idiots.”

 

 

"Oh! I haven't really explained very well, have I?" Bulma smiled placating. "I've wished you here from your time line because in our time line's future, you're my husband!" She kept speaking, despite the highly dubious eyebrow the child raised. "And I think that away from Frieza, you're actually a really good person who has been through some terrible things, so I want to help you." She ended awkwardly.

 

 

The look Vegeta gifted her with was withering, and for a moment she felt truly stupid. Why did she tell him all that? Right now? Surely there would have been a better way to present that information.

 

 

"You really are crazy," he said.

 

 

"Do you want something to eat?" she blurted.

 

 

"No, I want you to stop using your damned curse on me and let me fight like the warrior I am.”

 

 

"And then what? You don't stand a chance against my friends," she felt a strange mixture of smugness and regret as she watched his face turn an alarming shade of red.

 

 

"Then I will die an honorable death in battle!”

 

 

"They wouldn't kill you either!”

 

 

"Then what is the point of all this? Why do you hold me prisoner here?”

 

Bulma's argument pulled up short and she felt a wave of confused anger wash over her. "You want to go back? To Frieza? To living as his slave? You want to go back to that?”

 

 

He sputtered, looking for all the world like she had said his mother was a space slug. "Slave? I am no slave, you harpy! I'm am the Prince of all Saiyans. I am a warrior!”

 

 

The silence rang. Bulma held her tongue, realizing with dread that she had undoubtedly said the worst thing she could have. The boy version of her husband was breathing harshly, only the magic of the Dragon Balls preventing Bulma's sudden, violent end. She was about to open her mouth to try and apologize, if it was worth anything, when Krillin cut her off.

 

 

"Bulma, I know this is a bad time, but we have a problem.”

 

 

Krillin shrunk back from the Bulma's icy glare and he imagined he could almost see her minuscule ki rising. His unnaturally lucky streak of being rescued in the nick of time held however, as Goku suddenly appeared next to Bulma with Gohan at his side, his hand on his son's shoulder.

 

 

"Guys, we have a serious problem."

 

Vegeta had been happy to sit back and observe the chaos his younger doppelganger wrought. Seeing his wife's employees scatter and run for their lives had brought back a Pavlovian sort of joy. The urge to give them something to really run from began to build somewhere deep inside him, but he squashed the urge. The woman would probably refuse to feed him or disable the gravity chamber if she caught him. He contented himself with enjoying the destruction vicariously.

 

Seeing Bulma in her ridiculous state of undress had amused him. He knew she loathed to be seen as anything short of perfect, and at present she looked like some sort of demented clown – her makeup running and her short, blue hair sticking up at all angles. He had always enjoyed her in that robe, although when her fool of an ex had grabbed her, Vegeta had to resist bashing in the moron's skull. The robe was far too short for her to maintain any sense of modesty and she had flashed the entirety of the compound her undergarments.

 

The argument between his younger self and his wife hadn't been nearly as amusing. At first, it hadn't been so bad. Seeing himself subdued by the midget had been aggravating, but there was nothing to be done about it. He knew the "Z Warriors" were stronger than his younger self and it wasn't a surprise. Bulma's fumbled attempt to convince Vegeta to willingly stay and behave was both entertaining and disappointing. She really had no idea what she was dealing with. This small amount of destruction was only the beginning of what could have been one of his former self's legendary temper tantrums. Given a few more minutes, the structural damage would have escalated into carnage. Bulma didn't even seem to understand how fortunate it had been that this entire matter had occurred during lunch, while most of the employees were in the cafeteria, otherwise there would have been casualties.

 

Her accusation that he had been a slave, however, had made every muscle in his body stiffen. This was what she thought of him? Where had she gotten such an erroneous belief? Vegeta had never, and would never, be a slave! He'd made his choices and he had lived his life the way he saw fit. No one, not even Frieza, could dictate his fate! It burned him, that she held him in such low regard and he'd never known.

 

He left quickly, after that. He wanted to hear no more of her "opinions" for today.

 

Trunks sat at the Son's kitchen table, sulking despite the delicious smells of the vast lunch Chichi was preparing. He was still trying to process everything that happened. Goten sat next to him, salivating with the vacant, hungry expression he shared with his father while in the presence of food.

 

Chichi had welcomed Trunks into the house without a word about his blotchy face or his gloomy disposition. Trunks guessed that Gohan must have caught her up on recent events, because Chichi was tight-mouthed and her movements were violent and abrupt as she cooked her family's morning meal.

 

 

"I just don't know what goes on in your mother's head!” she exclaimed suddenly, slinging the bacon onto the griddle with enough force to knock up a thick spray of grease. "She never even considers how her actions are going to affect other people. She drags my Goku and my children off to do insane, dangerous things. Now she's doing it to her own family. I really thought she had calmed down after she had you, Trunks, but she's just as impulsive as she's ever been."

 

 

Trunks shrugged, not entirely sure how to respond to another adult criticizing his mother. He was mad at her too, but it still made him uncomfortable. Chichi lapsed back into silence as she opened the oven and viciously stabbed at the enormous roast inside. Goten kicked his legs against his chair impatiently, as if oblivious to his companies' dispositions.

 

 

"I don't know how she thinks this is going to change anything." Chichi said quietly, almost to herself.

 

 

It occurred to Trunks then, that Chichi had known his father when he first arrived on Earth. Trunks had been told before that his father hadn't always been on the same side as his mother and her friends, but he'd never thought much about it, blowing it off as being the same as Piccolo having once been Goku's enemy. He vaguely recalled his mother offhandedly saying that none of them had really gotten along at first. He figured the same went for his father, but just being on the opposite side of Son Goku did not earn you a spot in Hell and Trunks was old enough to understand that. He'd already died once himself, after all, and figured he had some experience. Chichi was scary, but she could tell him what his father had been like – what he had done that made him so terrible. And best of all, Trunks didn't think she would lie to him.

 

 

"Ms. Chichi," he began, his voice immediately cracking as he kept his eyes locked on the table. He was afraid he'd cry if he looked at her. "What did my – why does – Do you think my father deserves to go to Hell?”

 

 

She whirled around and peered at him through large, startled eyes, clutching a spatula to her chest with both hands. Goten stopped kicking his chair and looked between his friend and his mother. Trunks took a few deep breaths and raised his gaze from the table to look at her face. Her eyebrows fell as her initial surprise faded and he could see her answer written on her face before she even spoke.

 

 

"I do.”

 

 

Trunks felt something in him break.

 

 


	5. Appraisal Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, this took a long time. I have had a weird few years, but I hope the payoff of the the long wait is improved writing skills. 
> 
> I have the entire outline for this written and I am a good chunk of the way into the next chapter. I imagine it will be somewhere around 20 chapters if it doesn't get away from me. 
> 
> I had part of this written years ago, but most of it is fresh out the dome XD No beta reader, as my wonderful, benevolent editor recently had a baby and doesn't have time for my bullshit.

Piccolo didn’t find any bodies. As odd as that was, Gohan tried not to let himself feel too hopeful that Dende and the others were still alive. After all, the Dragon Balls were inert, which couldn't mean anything good.

The Z fighters were currently meeting in the living room of Bulma's home, waiting for Goku to contact New Namek. It had taken a while to get the chaos under control and come up with a plan, but finally they decided they'd best tell the Namekians they needed the Dragon Balls again once the time was up and tell them the news of Dende. 

As Goku collected all the relevant information from his friends, Gohan turned his attention to Bulma. He felt bad for her. She was biting her cuticles and looking out the window like she wanted to escape, probably for a cigarette. He knew Bulma hadn’t expected things to go this spectacularly wrong when she made her wish. Gohan had realized long ago that the common thread that kept Bulma and Goku close friends was their unreasonable optimism. They both wholeheartedly believed that people were all born good, that good would always win over evil, and that everything would turn out in the end. Gohan wasn't always so sure, but he hoped anyway. That was as good as he could do. 

He hoped she was right about Vegeta. Despite how they had met, Gohan had come to respect Vegeta ages ago and eventually somewhat like him. 

 

"I can't find it!” Goku exclaimed, fingers still pressed to his forehead. 

 

"What do you mean?" asked Piccolo. 

 

"New Namek! I can't find it. I can't find any of the Nameks!"

 

"Are you sure you're looking in the right place?" Krillin asked.

 

"Yeah, I'm looking where I always look,"

 

The room was quiet for a moment, no one quite sure what to say or do.

 

"I'm going to talk to King Kai," Goku said, vanishing on a blur. 

 

For several minutes, no one moved, save for awkward shuffling. 

 

"This could take a while," Bulma announced, leaving her spot at the window. "I'm going to go check on Vegeta."

 

 

Vegeta prepared the space pod with little discretion. He could lie to himself and say he didn't want Bulma to notice he was leaving, but part of him was waiting for her to storm out of the building and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. No such thing happened, and now Vegeta was twice as sure as before that this was in his best interest.

He wasn't planning to stay away for long. He just couldn't stay here. He couldn't remember a time in recent memory that he'd been so overwhelmed with the need to leave. He was angry, but confronting Bulma about her ridiculous opinions of his youth would only open a can of worms he would rather stay closed. Soon, his younger self would prove to her that it was all just how he was born. Vegeta wasn't sure where that would leave them. If she’d lived all these years under the assumption that he was a victim it would explain her willingness to accept him. He'd always found it somewhat baffling that she could so easily put aside his past. Now he knew why.

He removed the fueling pump from the pod. He was taking a smaller one with enough room to train, eat, and sleep. Bulma's father had made a hobby of constructing space pods in his spare time, especially since his retirement. They were littered across the compound, hidden in various innocuous places, either disguised as things you would expect to find on the property of the filthy rich or underground inside of launching tubes.

 

“Dad!”

 

Vegeta turned, not shocked to see Trunks, but taken aback by the anger on his young son’s face and coursing through his small, muscled body. The boy’s power level was unstable.

 

“What are you doing? Are you leaving?” Trunks demanded.

 

Vegeta scowled, crossing his arms. He hadn’t even thought of Trunks being the one to storm out and attempt to stop him. Vegeta wasn’t the most empathetic creature, but even he could tell that Trunks was disgusted by what he’d learned. While normally content to verbally abuse his son, right now Vegeta mostly just wanted to get past whatever emotional outbursts were about to happen and be on his way. 

 

“I’m taking a trip,” Vegeta said shortly. “I won’t be gone forever.”

 

Some of the fight seemed to leave Trunks, but his fists remained clenched and his eyes narrow. 

 

“I don’t believe you,” 

 

A moment of intense glaring passed.

 

“Take me with you,” Trunks said.

 

Vegeta felt something uncoil in his chest. His son had learned of his past and while he obviously did not approve, he still wanted to be with him. Vegeta didn’t know what that meant or what to do about it, but the part of him that had been slowly burning away inside him cooled a bit.

 

“I don’t suppose you’re packed?” Vegeta asked.

 

“I mean it, Dad, you can’t go without - wait,” Trunks eyes lit up and the anger melted away. “You mean you don’t mind?”

 

“Just hurry and be back in five minutes. And don’t tell your mother,”

 

That seemed to give Trunks pause, his eyebrows drawing back down and his mouth straightening into a thin line, but he nodded and disappeared into the house almost as if by instant transmission. Vegeta sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Why the fuck did I do that?” he mumbled to himself before resuming his preparations. 

 

Bulma peered through the doorway of the room she’d banished Vegeta to after his destructive morning. She was at a complete loss. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she made her wish, but the child shaped equivalent of sticking her arm inside a hornets nest certainly wasn’t it. 

The boy was still, rigidly sitting in the armchair Krillin had deposited him in. Bulma had left him with the command of ‘sit still, be quiet, and don’t use your ki'. She felt guilty for bringing him here and just to abandon him, but the disappearance of the Dragon Balls and the Lookout had taken precedent.

He appeared calm on her first impression, but at closer look, he was systematically pulling fibers from the chair’s arm, and flicking them into a pile of them to the floor. Once through the upholstery, he started in on the stuffing, which soon littered the carpet. Even at his least iniquitous, he destroyed whatever was available. His facial expression was at odds with his actions, almost vacant. 

She watched him until a good portion of the unfortunate armchair had been gutted allowing thoughts to slowly percolate through her mind. Her own son, while not violent, did possess an alarming amount of energy. Neither Trunks or Goten could really sit still for long without jittering or tapping, but never had either of them done something so… repetitive. His actions were unusually repetitive. It almost reminded her of an assistant she’d had years ago who’d been diagnosed with Obessive Compulsive Disorder. 

Somehow she doubted that was it. Vegeta was persnikety, but she didn’t think he ever did anything that seemed OCD. The wooden skeleton of the chair was exposed now, and he was already digging a hole with the tips of his fingers, but his glazed over eyes seemed unaware of his hand’s quest to destroy her furniture. 

 

“Would you like something to eat,” she asked finally, arms crossed and trying to keep the deep worry and fear out of her voice.

 

His hand froze, but otherwise he made no indication that he’d heard her. 

 

“I’ll bring you something. I want you to eat it and then use the restroom connected to this room. After that lay on the bed and try to sleep,” she said.

 

She turned and walked away from him before she could see how he reacted and tried to push down the encroaching panic and guilt.

 

 

Vegeta watched the blue haired woman walk away. It galled him to no end that he hadn’t noticed her approach, but it had been days now since he’d last had a decent meal and his head felt stuffed and foggy at the same time. 

Before he had really managed to process what she’d said, she was back before him with something that smelled an awful lot like food. His eyes twitched to the platter she held in front of him, then involuntarily up to her face and down again. The food was a variety of fruits, vegetables, and meats he didn’t find familiar, so he reluctantly turned his nose up at it.

 

“I could order you to eat this, you know?” she said. “But I won’t unless I really have to. I just want you to eat, if I wanted you dead I’d have much easier ways of doing it than poisoning you.”

 

She emphasized her point by taking a bite out of a crunchy, red fruit. It’s insides were white and glistened with juice and his stomach let loose a sudden, powerful growl. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, holding it out to him while balancing the platter with the rest of the food in her other hand. He snatched it and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. It smelled sweet and fresh. When was the last time he’d had fresh food? He took a bite and chewed, finding himself savoring the sweet and tart taste on his tongue. He hadn't tasted anything like it since Vegeta-sei had been destroyed when he was a child. He devoured it and grabbed the entire tray from the woman, who stepped away to clean the pile of fluff off the floor. 

He watched her warily, only sparing her enough attention to be sure where she was in the room at all times. She may have had ultimate control over him, but it was a habit he wouldn’t be breaking any time soon, regardless of it’s current usefulness. He’d learned the hard way not to take his eye off the enemy.

Movement abruptly materialized in the corner of the quiet room, the man from when he’d first been transported to this asinine world appearing from thin air. Vegeta couldn’t entirely stop the flinch that ripped through him and he dropped what was left of his food to the floor and ignored it like he’d done it on purpose. 

“Bulma, we need to talk,” the man said, his face stern and serious.

The blue haired woman scowled at the bones, cores, and rinds of the food scattered on the carpet, but nodded.

“Go to the bathroom, use the toilet, and clean up. Take a shower. Everything is digital, you should understand how it works. By the time you're done there should be some clothes waiting for you in this room. Get dressed and go to bed.” 

Her tone left it clear that this was all an order, not a suggestion.

“The bathroom is right across the hall. Go as soon as I leave. Don’t go anywhere but the bathroom and this room.”

With those parting words, she left with the man. Vegeta couldn’t remember his name, but he seemed oddly familiar. He appeared Saiyan-like, but there were many species that were saiyanoid. He didn’t have a tail, so Vegeta dismissed it.

As soon as the woman was gone, he found himself on his feet and moving towards the doorway. All the muscles in his body stiffened as he tried to command them, making them ache and twitch, but his body never slowed. Outside of the room was a quiet, unoccupied hallway with a dim overhead light fixture and several other doors to the right of him. To the left was the end of the hallway where a wooden table took up most of the wall, decorated with an opaque glass pitcher containing a bouquet of yellow flowers. 

He continued into the room directly adjacent the one he’d just exited. It was very similar to the latrines on Freiza’s bases. He relieved himself as ordered, irritation and a bit of panic flaring in his chest at not even having control over his own bladder. He took off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The digital screen on the wall blinked to life with blue light and hot water sprayed from the ceiling without his input.

Regardless of the circumstances, it did feel good to get clean and he found himself scrubbing away dirt and blood from his hair and body with disgustingly fragrant soaps that smelled of dead plants. His untreated wounds that had been aching beneath his clothing stung, but none were infected.

The mission he had been on before being sent here had been brutal. The creature, whatever it was, had been terrifying, even to him, and he had seen a lot of scary things. As pissed as he was to be where he was, it was undeniably better than where he had been. He had a full stomach. He was warm and clean. It was all foreign feeling.

He was still angry. He still wanted to blast the stupid bitch’s head off and get the hell out off this ridiculous planet. He’d had enough of taking orders he couldn’t refuse in his lifetime and at least then he had been able to scheme and plot his revenge. He didn’t know how to defeat his own mind and body and that was as horrifying as the creature he’d been struggling to survive against before. 

He finished his shower, dried himself, and walked back to his room naked. There he found a soft pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that were both only slightly large on him. He turned the light to the room off and curled up on the bed, not bothering to climb under the covers. 

She hadn’t ordered him to sleep, only to go to bed. Well, he was in bed. He sat up, relieved that he wasn’t forced into unconsciousness. Staring into the darkness, he let himself pout. His body felt better than he could remember it ever feelings, even accounting for the muscle aches from fighting the bitch’s orders and the bruises and cuts left over from his mission. He leaned his back against the wooden headboard, reluctant to lay down, despite having nothing else to do. It wasn’t long before he found himself dropping off to sleep while sitting up and he allowed himself to drift into a light doze.

He’d blast her face in as soon as he figured out how. For now, he’d just dream of it.

 

“King Kai thinks something came through time with Vegeta,” Goku said with little preamble once the group had reassembled. “There isn’t really any way to know what it was for sure, but he knows of creatures that eat ki and magic. Something like that could definitely take down the Lookout.”

 

“What about New Namek?” Bulma asked. 

 

“It seems like the timing is too precise to be a coincidence,” Piccolo said, arms crossed and leaned casually against the back of the couch where Gohan sat so that his back was to the young man. 

 

“But how did it get from there to here so fast?” Krillin asked.

 

“Maybe it can teleport,” Yamcha added. 

 

Gohan listened, but didn’t have much to add. Whatever it was, they didn’t have any idea what they were dealing with or what to do about it. They were just guessing. 

 

“Has anyone checked on Buu?” asked Videl from her spot next to Gohan. 

 

“I can still feel his ki,” Gohan responded. “He’s not actively doing anything with it, but he seems fine.”

 

The room lapsed into a tense silence. There had been a lot of that lately. 

 

“Has anyone seen Vegeta?” asked Bulma. “Or Trunks? I thought they would be here for this.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I haven’t noticed their ki around here recently,” Goku said, looking around as if they were hiding in the room. 

 

“They left,” said Goten from the doorway, where he had apparently been listening in on the adult’s conversation. “They took a space pod. Trunks left me a note.” 

 

He held the note out and Bulma took it from him. She cursed and stormed out of the room, taking the paper with her. Gohan shook his head. There was no way she could have predicted the cascade of consequences that her wish had brought, but Vegeta’s reaction was the one thing she should have been expecting. 

 

“Thank you for telling us, Goten,” Gohan told his brother.

 

“Yeah,” Goten said, his eyes downcast. “Is Trunks going to be in trouble?”

 

“I don’t think so. He’s with his dad, so Bulma will probably be more mad at Vegeta.”

 

“I don't know if she can afford to get attitude with Vegeta at this point. I don’t blame him for being mad,” Krillin said as he twisted and spun a Dragon Ball Radar around on Bulma’s coffee table, his legs crossed under him on the floor. “I mean, I understand Bulma’s intentions, but there had to be a less crazy way to do this.”

 

“I helped her with this,” Goku said. “It’s as much my fault as it is her’s.”

 

“I don’t know if he’s just mad at her for the wish,” Gohan said, running his hands through his hair with a deep sigh. “I felt his ki fluctuate and then leave when Bulma was having it out with the other Vegeta. I don’t know how well he would take to being called a slave. I just don’t know what she’s thinking anymore. There is no way a Vegeta in any time or universe would see himself that way.”

“Isn’t it true though? From the way I’ve heard things, Vegeta never wanted to work for Frieza,” asked Videl.

 

“It wasn’t exactly that. If I were to call him anything, I would say he was a child soldier,” Gohan explained. “He was a warrior and I think there was definitely elements of control and manipulation on Frieza’s part, but I remember the other soldiers from Frieza’s army we ran into on Namek. There was a culture of violence and he was raised in it.”

 

“Even before then he was raised in a violent culture. The Saiyans were violent,” Yamcha pointed out. 

 

“When he was dying he told me Frieza made the Saiyans fight for him,” Goku said, his eyes distant. “He said that Frieza threatened his father if he didn’t do whatever he told him to do. He at least didn’t start out doing everything he did willingly.”

 

“For now, this is the least of our problems,” Piccolo interjected.

 

“Yeah, but we’ve kind of run out of clues here,” Krillin countered. 

 

The room was left in a moody silence once again. They weren’t used to having so little to work off of. Usually their problems were bold and easy to punch back into order. After a moment of hard thinking, Gohan felt he had an idea for where they might find something to grab on to. 

 

“Maybe the other Vegeta noticed something when he was wished here,” he said. “Since Bulma’s busy, I’m going to go talk to him.”

 

Trunks watched his father as he ignored the fifth attempt his mother made to call them. It was odd. He knew his dad was upset, but he’d never seen him so reluctant to jump into a fight, be it verbal or physical. He had expected his dad to jump immediately into high gravity training, but so far Trucks had just watched as his dad organized their living space and then sit staring vacantly at the controls. 

They didn’t have a destination yet. Apparently they were just moving away from their problems. 

Before the signal ended, his father let out a frustrated grunt and allowed the call through.

 

“What the hell, Vegeta!?” His mother’s blue head exploded loudly on to the large com screen over the control panel. “You kidnap my son and then don’t even take my calls? I wasn’t even sure he was with you!”

 

The face his father made wasn’t so much a frown as a flinch, Trunks assumed at the volume, but it was still weird. Trunks really had expected his father’s reaction to his mother’s wish and it’s results would be more, well, angry. If Trunks had been younger, a little less observant, he would probably still think his father was just angry. But the past few months since Buu, Trunks had paid more attention to his father and the meanings behind the things he did. 

He knew his father well enough by now that he was sure his father was actually hurt. 

He couldn’t say for sure why, exactly, but there it was. 

 

“Woman, it hasn’t even been three hours,” Vegeta groused, not even reaching half the volume Bulma had, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers and palm. 

 

Bulma’s frown transformed from angry to concerned. “Do you have a headache again? If you’re getting one of those headaches, Vegeta, you need to come home.”

 

“No, I’m fine,” he said, dropping his hand. 

 

She lowered her decibels, nonetheless. “Still, we could really use you guys here. New Namek is just gone. Goku and King Kai think something came through time along with the rest of the wish.”

 

Vegeta stared at the screen, his face mostly blank, like he wasn’t really processing what she was saying. 

 

“What do they think it is?” Trunks asked, stepping up next to his father. 

 

“Trunks! Do you know how much trouble you’re in mister?” Her giant head tilted as if she had to move to see him.

 

“What? Why? I’m with Dad, shouldn’t he be the one in trouble?”

 

“And he is, but you know better by now than to take off into parts of the galaxy unknown without telling your mother!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But tell me what King Kai said,” he rubbed the back of his head; he kind of felt bad for worrying her, but she also kind of deserved it. 

 

“We don’t know much yet. Just that he and the other kais felt a weird energy around the same time I made my wishes. It’s the only lead we have.” 

 

When she talked about making the wish she looked as close to regretful as Trunks thought he’d ever seen her. It brought him a little closer towards forgiving her, but he wasn’t sure how much more it would take. He really did understand her motivations, but couldn’t someone have at least talked to him about this? He was blindsided! Anyone would be upset at getting hit in their face by their parent’s apparently genocidal past without a word of warning from anyone. Trunks wasn’t even sure if he was mad she’d made the wish as much as being lied to his entire life. 

 

“You’ll inform us if you learn anything new,” Vegeta said, not quiet a request and not quiet a demand. “We’ll return shortly.”

 

Bulma’s eyes studied her husband intently, then she nodded, her mouth a grim line. 

 

“Fine. Stay in touch and don’t ignore my calls anymore. Be safe. Love you, Trunks!” 

 

She waved at him and then the screen went black. Trunks tried not to worry too much about the tears in her eyes. 

After a moment of quiet, Vegeta got up from the controls and moved towards the metal ladder that led down into the sleeping area. 

 

“Wait, Dad?”

 

Vegeta paused and turned to look at Trunks with tired, bloodshot looking eyes. Trunks tried to see what his mother might have seen. His dad was rapidly looking sicker and sicker, like a time-lapsed wilting cabbage. 

 

“Are you really okay? What are these headaches Mom was talking about? Do you have one now?” Trunks rapid fired and noticed his dad’s posture change from exhausted to more upright, as if he hadn’t realized he was collapsing into himself. 

 

“I’ll be fine, boy. I’m not the first person to ever get a migraine. You may train on your own, but keep it down. I’ll be sleeping.”

 

He slipped down the ladder, not even floating or jumping, but actually climbing. Trunks eyes lingered on the closed hatch for a moment before shaking his head and turning to the gravity machine. At least one of them could train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot and also the rating should pick up in the next couple chapters. So, beware, because this is going to be traumatizing for all of us.
> 
> *gulps coffee that definitely doesn't have a crapton of whiskey in it*


End file.
